The Last Bow
by FionaTailynn
Summary: The conclusion to "The Awakening" /s/8319272/1/ Eight months after John and Sherlock get reunited, Sherlock gets a mysterious text from his believed-to-be dead arch nemesis: James Moriarty, inviting him to a final showdown.


"It was the waitress, it has to be!" Sherlock shouted jumping up from the couch, then realizing he was alone in the flat. He checked the time; it was a quarter to eleven. John had taken up the late shift at the hospital and wouldn't be home for a while. Sherlock was just about to text Lestrade so he could make the arrest, when he saw that he had one new message. He quickly unlocked his phone and frowned as he stared down at it; he'd so dearly hoped that the events from several months ago wouldn't come back to haunt him:

It's time to finish what we've started. West end stage: I'll be waiting. -JM

It had been eight months since John and Sherlock's dramatic reunion. None of them had spoken of it or the three years before ever since. Silence that both had hoped would remain that way. Life had gone back to normal for the two of them: Sherlock moved back into 221B, started taking up cases, and John was working again. There were no signs of any side effects of the poison (except for Sherlock constantly claiming not to be as sharp as he used to, though no one else could tell a difference to before) and each of their bullet wounds healed perfectly. Life was a pleasure again for them.

After eight months Sherlock had stopped worrying about Moriarty's where about, even though no body was found in the ruins of the warehouse, and had started to believe John when he told him he couldn't have survived, but now...

Somehow it was clear from the start, no stab wound could stop James Moriarty. Sherlock sat down on the armchair and put his fingers on his temples. What should he do now? He'd escaped from Moriarty three times before, twice being luck, and he didn't think he would allow him a fourth. He sat back up straight, wondering how much time was left for his decision, his eyes flickering around the room and his fingers nervously tapping on the coffee table. Maybe he should stop playing Moriarty's game, and not go. But maybe something worse would happen if he didn't. Either way there was one certainty: This was going to be his last encounter with Moriarty, maybe even his last with anyone. Suddenly the door opened and John walked in to the room.

"Still up?" John said softly while taking off his coat.

Sherlock quickly looked up "What? Oh, yeah..." he hadn't realized he was sitting there for so long.

It was already half past midnight.

"Working on another case?" John asked with a smile.

"Something like that." Sherlock muttered. He didn't want to tell John about the text, it would just worry him. On the other hand, he'd already kept a secret from him, and it would be unfair not to tell him anything.

"What do you mean?" John asked walking towards him and sitting down on the couch.

"I got a text." Sherlock answered not looking up to him.

"From who?"

Sherlock didn't reply, he stared into the distance, wondering if this was his last conversation with John.

"Sherlock?" John said with a concerned face.

"Yes?" Sherlock finally spoke.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes." Sherlock quickly answered.

"You don't look alright."

Sherlock glanced up at him with a blank face.

"Sherlock, what's going on? Who texted you?"

There was an inner battle inside Sherlock: John would be safer if he didn't know, but not telling him was misusing his trust. He opened his mouth, no noise coming out. Sherlock covered his face with his hands, closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, took a deep breath and looked back at John.

"Moriarty texted me."

John's eyes widened "B-but he got blown up! There's no way he could've gotten out on time!"

"Well apparently there is." Sherlock sighed.

John stared at the floor, processing the unexpected information then lifted his head again.

"What did he text you?"

"He just..." Sherlock broke off in the middle of the sentence, hoping John would understand without him having to say it.

"_Sherlock?_" John said with a stern voice.

Sherlock handed him his phone instead of answering, and watched as the color left John's face.

"Are you... going?" John asked.

"I don't know. Do you think I should?" Sherlock had never been so unsure in his life, except when he didn't know he was Sherlock that is. This was the first time he'd asked anyone's opinion on something like this. John looked around with a thoughtful face.

" I can't answer that. And I don't think it makes much of a difference in the end."

Sherlock nodded realizing the bitter truth.

"I think it's best to go though." he said "He wants to tell me something, and won't do it if I don't go."

John bit his lip as he listened to Sherlock.

"I'm going with you."

"No."

"Sherlock. I am, and you can't stop me."

Sherlock closed his eyes and let out a sigh, it was most likely true that nothing would stop him.

"He's used me as bait every time up to now." John finally said "Maybe it would make a difference if I came."

"Perhaps." Sherlock said opening his eyes again "But I have a strange feeling he can hear everything we're saying." he looked around.

"Oh, right."

Sherlock got up and started pacing back in forth around the living room. John watched him and let out a sigh.

"Fine. Go alone. But call me if anything happens." Sherlock stood still and nodded at John. He probably wouldn't be able to call if there was any danger, which there would surely be, but he wanted to give him some comforting. Plus there was a pretty good chance John was lying. John stood up and walked towards Sherlock. They both looked each other in the eyes, exchanging thousands of words without making any sound. They both made sure that they couldn't touch each other, so this perhaps final-goodbye, wasn't as hard.

Sherlock finally turned around and headed for the door, without looking back. He put on his coat and scarf. The doorknob was in his hand but it took him a while until he actually wanted to turn it. "Wish me luck." he said giving John one last glance. John nodded at him.

"Don't you dare die again."

"I'll do my best." he looked away and closed the door behind him. Once he was outside he hailed the first taxi he saw, which took a while to appear due to the late hour, and got inside.

"West end." he muttered, as the cab driver started the engine. Sherlock stared out the window, and saw the flat disappear in the distance. He wanted to cry, but this wasn't the time or the place, although he never felt like it was.

The cab came to a stop and Sherlock slowly stepped out, almost forgetting to pay the driver. He stared up at the tall building. The theatre was closed; Moriarty wanted privacy again. Suddenly Sherlock's phone bleeped again.

You sure took your time. Get in. We have a lot to discuss. -JM

Sherlock pursed his lips at the text and pocketed his phone away. He walked over to the door; it was open: probably so that he couldn't find a reason not to go. Sherlock stepped inside, it took a while to get used to the darkness, but soon he could find his way to the stage. He climbed onto it and examined the room. It was deserted, the only light being a single spotlight pointed at the middle of the stage: where Sherlock was standing.

"You can come out now. I'm here!" he shouted out searching for any sign of movement.

The silhouette of a man emerged from the shadows.

"I started thinking you wouldn't show."

"And miss an opportunity like this? Please, you know me better." Sherlock said turning around recognizing the man's face instantly.

Moriarty walked up over to Sherlock, now standing in the spotlight as well.

"You didn't honestly think your little soldier boy had beaten me?"

Sherlock didn't answer, that sentence hurt him. Hurt him more then he should've let it.

"So what now? Am I here to try out new drugs for you again?"

Moriarty started walking around Sherlock watching, not letting him out of his sight.

"Oh, not quite. I don't like repeating myself."

Sherlock smirked a little watching Moriarty's every movement.

"So why did you take so long?"

"I needed the time to perfect it. Now I just need a volunteer."

"And how is that not repeating yourself?"

"Oh Sherlock. I can't use my assistant for this to be truly _magnificent_ trick. I need a volunteer from the audience. How about you?" he pointed towards the seats. Sherlock's eyes followed his finger; there was some movement in the darkness. Sherlock shook his head, hoping his hunch wasn't correct.

"Come on out! Don't be shy."

The person standing there didn't move an inch.

"Do you want me to force you?"

Sherlock was sure about his hunch being correct as he saw a small red dot appear on his cheek. There was only one person who knew where he was and would care if the sniper would shoot: John.

"No, no, no." he whispered to himself. This couldn't be happening. Sherlock rubbed his forehead as he heard feet getting up on the stage. His eyes flashed over to the two other men standing in the light.

"Are you ready for your surprise?" Moriarty giggled, pulling out a syringe.

"Don't touch him." Sherlock hissed.

"And why should I do that?"

"Because his death wouldn't be any use to you."

"Oh? Do you really believe that, Sherlock?"

Sherlock swallowed, Moriarty was right. He knew exactly how much it would affect him.

"And also I need to teach him a little lesson about playing with knives."

All this time John had been silent. His eyes gazed into the darkness as he waited for the injection to penetrate his veins. Neither of them knew what Moriarty meant by 'perfecting'. Either it put you into a permanent coma, or it completely destroyed every memory. Sherlock didn't try to think about which one would be worse.

"Kill me instead, and let him go."

"What difference would that make? You know exactly what he tried to do last time he thought you were dead."

It was a little exaggerated to say that they hadn't spoken about the fall, the coma or the warehouse after it happened. Of course they had to when they had to show that Sherlock was alive and cleared his name. But the reason for John being in the warehouse that night he found Sherlock was an absolute taboo among the two of them. The idea disgusted both of them, especially Sherlock and because it had taken care of itself there was no reason to mention it to anyone.

"Then poison me again if you wish." Sherlock finally said lifting his arm up.

"No thanks. I've had enough time experimenting with this to know your immune to it."

Sherlock let out a sigh while he put it back down .

"May I at least talk to him before you do it?" John asked.

"Whatever." Moriarty mumbled and turned around. John took a step closer to Sherlock, looking up to his grey eyes.

"I never thought it would end this way." Sherlock didn't reply, he just stared down at his friend taking in every single detail of his face. Finally he shook his head slightly at him.

"Don't talk like that." he said.

John chuckled a little "Then how do you want me to talk?"

"I just want you to trust me." Sherlock whispered.

" I trust you with my life, even if that isn't much to say now."

Sherlock nodded and smiled, John smiled though unsure why they were even smiling. Sherlock took one step closer to him and wrapping him in his arms. John mirrored his acts and pulled him closer.

"I'm going to miss you." John murmured.

"But you'll be there all along." Sherlock replied.

After a couple more minutes of them hugging they finally pulled themselves apart. John walked into the middle of the spotlight "I'm ready."

"Good." Moriarty took a step closer to John, who was frozen on the spot, pulled his sleeve up looked for the main vein and injected the poison.

Sherlock was fast enough to catch John who collapsed immediately. He softly laid him on the ground and examined him. John was stabile. Sherlock looked down at this unconscious body, and felt what John must've felt when he found him: sorrow. Although sorrow wasn't quite all that he felt. His head twisted around o Moriarty, fury in his eye. He got up and grabbed hold of his collar.

"You just put yourself in a very dangerous position." he growled while pulling Moriarty up to his height.

"And so have you. Oh look another one." Moriarty giggled at the new red dot on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock didn't react to it, his grasp tightening even more.

"Do you really want to take that risk?" Moriarty challenged.

"Whatever happens afterwards, I will kill you single handedly."

"_Oooh_! Nothing's more scary then a consulting detective whose best friend's memory just got completely wiped." Moriarty said lifting his hands up in the air.

"You're right. Lucky for you, you wont live the day that will happen."

"Oh poor Sherlock. Does that complicated brain of yours still not grasp the truth?"

"If you had done that, I would've killed you already. I'm _going_ to kill you because you tried to wipe his memories. Although it was a nice shot, you still missed your target."

"How did I miss it? In a few moments he'll awake, with nothing of him left."

"That is partly true, he will awake, but everything will still be in place." Sherlock said sure of himself.

"And how exactly?"

"You said why yourself."

Moriarty chuckled and shook his head. Sherlock slowly took his gun out, that he'd taken along just in case, but didn't point it at Moriarty. He lifted his arm up and pulled the trigger without even looking in the right direction. The spotlight shattered and the lights went out. Perfect.

Now he could take care of him without the snipers seeing what was happening. Sherlock grabbed Moriarty's head stuck the gun in what his neck and moved. Before shooting he bent over to his ear and whispered:

"You paid me back too much and now, I owe you." There was gunshot and then silence.

Sherlock put down the gun and looked around for John's unconscious body. He almost tripped over something warm. Here he was. Sherlock took John's shoulders and quickly pulled him behind the curtain where they wouldn't be reachable for any bullets. He found a light switch and turned it on. Once he could see again Sherlock checked for any injuries on John. His rates were still normal. Sherlock took a couple deep breaths realizing what he'd just done. Not that it was the wrong thing to do but...

His attention was at John again when he coughed a little. Sherlock turned his head towards him.

"John?" At the mention of his name he shook his head a little. His eyes opened just a crack.

"It's okay. You're safe now." Sherlock said softly still on the lookout for any snipers.

John rubbed his forehead a little.

"What happened? Wait a minute... How am I _here_?"

Sherlock smiled lightly "I told you that you'd still be there."

John chuckled a little and sat up "What happened? Was the poison _not_ perfected after all?"

"It was." Sherlock mumbled looking down.

"Then how can I remember you?"

Sherlock eyes flashed back at him "Ever since the day I got home, I've been studying it. I developed a sort of vaccine for it."

John shook his head "So you've been drugging me. And you didn't even think about telling me I was immune to it?"

"I didn't know until today. It was made out of a much lower concentration and I couldn't risk trying it out with the real one. I knew that if there was an immunity to it, it would work, but I couldn't be sure until he said so."

"You still could've said you were experimenting on me."

"Yes. Sorry..."

"You don't need to apologize Sherlock." Sherlock nodded at him and smiled.

"Why did I fall unconscious then?" he said after a small pause.

"As I said, it was a much lower concentration."

"What about _him_?" John asked.

"Taken care of, finally." Sherlock said quickly.

"You didn't."

"I did."

"Good... I guess." It was a little odd for the two of them to be sure that it finally was over.

"Are you awake enough to walk?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Sherlock stood up and gave him a hand. John grabbed hold of it and pulled himself up. They left by the backdoor, in case some snipers were still around, but Sherlock told John that a lot of them were probably happy he was finally dead as well.

They left the theatre, not even caring about the body that was still lying there. The police would find it the next day, and they'd have plenty of time to explain then. But for now, both just wanted some peace and quiet. They wouldn't talk about it, like what had happened eight months before, but would silently celebrate in their minds.

None of them spoke during the cab ride home. When it finally arrived, both of them slowly stepped out. Sherlock looked around while John paid the driver. Sherlock slowly opened the door and walked up the stairs. He found himself back on the same couch, and finally sent the text he wanted to send earlier that evening.

Waitress has the vase. -SH

A couple minutes later John entered the flat as well.

"Tea?" Sherlock asked.

John hesitated, a little bit shocked by how fast he was taking things, but then smiled.

"Sure."


End file.
